


hummingbird

by doseinalia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, BokuAka Week 2020, Confessions, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pining, Rated T for swearing, it's soft & cheesy and we write using sun metaphors, they're biology students, they're weird bc they have to be, weirdos with a crush ???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25723918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doseinalia/pseuds/doseinalia
Summary: A pool of honey develops in his stomach, sweetness tickling his throat, Bokuto’s silvery hair reminding him of snowfall under lamplight.or the five times Bokuto's words fail him and the one time Akaashi's words don't.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 24
Kudos: 79





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is the first part of the 5+1 prompt for bokuaka week 2020 day 6! 
> 
> the second part should be posted within a few days (fingers crossed)

Through the window, Akaashi examines Bokuto as he fidgets. He picks at his hair, his skin, his fingernails, bumps his foot against the couch every so often, moves his fingers to drum against the couch; all the while, (doing his best to conceal the nonstop motions), he’s sprawled across a chair, mirroring lazy, languid cat-like behavior. 

A pool of honey develops in his stomach, sweetness tickling his throat, Bokuto’s silvery hair reminding him of snowfall under lamplight. 

The constant squirming signifies Bokuto’s nervousness; even if he’s pretending to be a sleepy tiger. That act will not fool him and it probably doesn’t fool Kuroo or Kenma as they listen to him ramble on about who knows what, (Kuroo listens, Kenma does his own bit of fidgeting with thumbs on joysticks). 

He has time to waste before he’s supposed to be at their front door step, before they’re supposed to meet to walk to the library together- where they’ll more than likely spend the next 6-7 hours. 

So, Akaashi continues to gaze through the window. 

There’s really no place for him to hide, so if any of them ever peek over, Akaashi will reluctantly have to own up to the fact that he’s been gawking at them outside of their house, but he can live with it. Kuroo finds him to be  _ creepy  _ and awkward anyway- which is odd because Akaashi finds Kenma to be weirder than himself but Kenma doesn’t  _ bother  _ Kuroo. 

As he continues to stare into the room, he feels like it’s wrong, an invasion of who Bokuto is without him around. A grisly nauseating feeling lurks around the corner of the house, it whispers he’s not supposed to see Bokuto like this; it murmurs in the dirt, taunting and cruel, explaining it simply for him: Bokuto hides this from Akaashi purposefully. Not so much the nail picking and side glances or the furrowed eyebrows and lip biting- no, Akaashi’s familiar with the anxiety hidden like stars way beyond the sun- it’s the  _ quietness  _ Akaashi infringed upon. Something about the way he’s sitting, the way his mouth barely moves, the way he’s not consuming the whole room makes Akaashi think twice about peering at them through the window. 

And as much as it’s whatever type of wrong to feel this, Bokuto looks nice like this. As much as it feels like he’s stealing something from him, Akaashi can’t help but admire the placidity of it all. 

The sun sets on the window, allowing reds and golds to flood into their living room, veiling the tacky aquamarine 80s couches in copper tones, aurelian drenching the walls in mock candlelight. Bokuto’s hair absorbs the sunlight engulfing him in an unearthly halo, his corners and edges dulled, welcoming in the phosphorescence. 

If Akaashi were in the room,  _ closer _ , he’d be fixated on Bokuto’s eyes. Already gold without sunlight, his eyes would generate more pigments than the sun and it’s like-minded stars. 

He wishes he could say it plainly: spew it all over the wall, for the first time in his life suffering from word vomit, he wishes, he longs, he wants to be  _ loud _ and tell Bokuto that he’s getting burnt on all the- 

_ No _ . He doesn’t know what he’d tell him. He’d never tell him his eyes generate an aurous kaleidoscope or that he’s gentle like moonlight. He’d never be able to articulate the jealousy he feels towards Kuroo, who’s fortunate enough to get a glimpse of quiet and contemplation; that he doesn’t have to hide it from him or act like that part of him doesn’t exist around him, beg him, plead his case somehow. Akaashi doesn’t know how to tell him it’s not a show, not a game, not a performance because he’ll take him how he is, whether it’s dipped in daylight or shadowy in fairy lights. 

He wants to say,  _ I’ll take you as you are.  _

If he dared speak his mind, Bokuto might make a joke. Might stare at him with giant owl eyes, cock his head to the side, slap him on the shoulder and tell him to stop speaking in impractical metaphors. He’d put on another show for him, make it all  _ funny,  _ not real, have Kuroo crack some laughs beside him. And when Akaashi’s done being the punchline, Bokuto would eventually sneak a glance back at Akaashi, golden eyes tinted a sad kind of saffron, an apology Akaashi will never get to hear aloud. Not to say he’s ever mean, or that he needs to apologize for the teasing; the apology lies somewhere between  _ I know what you mean _ and  _ there’s no room for me where you want me to be.  _ Akaashi just doesn’t know how to convey that the room is spacious and empty and always open for him. 

The sun continues to saturate their living room, streaks of red in Kenma’s bleached ends, buttery highlights on Kuroo’s skin- it’s almost 6 pm and they said they’d be there at 6:30, it’s time to move past the addictive sunset hues and face the reality where Akaashi exists in the space he’s observing. 

He shuffles over to the door and knocks three times before being met with Kenma’s unwavering disinterested stare. “It’s Akaashi.” he says flatly, spinning on his socks and leaving Akaashi in the doorway to let himself in. 

He immediately tunes into Bokuto’s sharp timbre, “ _ Akaashi _ ,” he draws out at shouting volume. The front door leads to the living room so all he needs to do is step in and turn left to see Bokuto smirking on the couch, somehow looking different on the inside even though he was just watching him outside. Akaashi wonders what it looks like from the outside right now, what Akaashi does to the sunlight smothering every surface. What Akaashi does to the room. 

_ What he does to Bokuto.  _

It’s a mile a minute from there. The sappy honey illuminated room he saw from outside disappearing each millisecond he occupies the same space as Bokuto. He’s shouting, smirking,  _ fidgeting  _ theatrically; scattering his name from his mouth every so often, enough to bring pink to Akaashi’s cheeks but not enough to see it as genuine. 

Maybe the quietness only exists without him, maybe it exists in nervous yellow eyes shooting glances over his back every so often. 

  
  


When they leave for the library, Kenma and Kuroo walk a few steps in front of them. Bokuto keeps bumping his shoulder. Bumping might be the wrong word. Bokuto regularly runs him off the sidewalk, unable to walk in a straight line, let alone walk at a consistent pace. After a few minutes, Akaashi gently tugs on his jacket with his fingers. Bokuto immediately whips his head sideways to stare at him. 

Big gold eyes. 

He feels like an idiot whenever he’s met with the drops of sunlight. His vision blurs and the world’s noises cease to exist when Bokuto meets his eyes, always happily, always in a daze, patiently waiting for him to say something and address him. One of the only times, Akaashi can lay his eyes on the  _ quiet,  _ one of the only times Bokuto’s attention is kept in one place. 

His stomach’s in his throat, “Don’t run me into oncoming traffic, ya dope.” He leaves his fingers on his jacket, Bokuto breaks his attention from his face only to stare down at his hands still secured on his jacket. 

Smirking, then shrugging, he says, “Just shove back.” 

Taking his advice, quite literally, Akaashi removes his hand to roughly shove him, Bokuto stumbles over, trips over his feet, “Not this instant!” he shouts while laughing. “And they say,  _ I’m  _ the one who’s dangerous, sure thing, they don’t tell you about the quiet ones, the ones that will come up next to you and take you by surprise,” he clamors on, catching back up to Akaashi after almost falling. 

“What else do they say about the quiet ones?” Akaashi simpers, now playfully elbowing him. Bokuto raises an eyebrow, cheeks dusted with pink under his summer tan.

“Well,” he starts, sucking on his two front teeth, “Kenma tells me quiet people usually want to be left alone, but when I tried that with you,” he glances over at him, “you got all cranky and weird, so I know not to listen to him for advice anymore.” 

“You talk to Kenma about me?” 

“Did I say it was about you? No, we were talking about quiet people.” 

“So, me.” 

Bokuto scoffs, “Not everything’s about you, Akaashi, okay, let me finish.”

“Nah, the only quiet person you know other than Kenma is me.” 

With a groan, Bokuto lifts his hands up in the air, “Okay, whatever,  _ anyway _ ,” he drags the word out, feinting annoyance, “back to what they say about the quiet ones.” 

“I kinda wanna hear about me now.” Akaashi prods and pokes, playfully, intentionally, waiting for Bokuto to let him scoop out honesty; the rowdiness thunders over the truth, clouds it like a rainy day and Akaashi longs for the soapy sun to sting his eyes. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“That’s what I usually say about you.” 

“You adore me.”

“Eh, for the most part, yeah, but you’re still insufferable.” he hopes Bokuto’s not watching him too intently as he stares down at his feet, feeling warmth spread across his face, knowing full well he can’t hide the crimson for long. 

Thankfully, Bokuto ignores it, “Right back at you, I feel the same about you,” he huffs. 

“Oh? So you also adore me?” he’s bound to crack the thin ice he’s walking on, bound to fall into the icy water, pummel to his death off a tight rope- he shouldn’t be playing like this, teasing like this, his patience wearing thin, but there’s no excuse for this. 

Must have been all the gold in the living room, the peach marmalade hallucinations in what’s usually a repugnant room. 

Now, Bokuto’s bright red, the sunset highlights aren’t supplying an illusion, his blush travels down his neck, to his ears, and Akaashi can’t help but burst out laughing. This seems to make the blush worse, Bokuto’s stuttering, bright red and hopelessly tripping over a weak comeback that can’t seem to escape past his tongue. 

Akaashi continues to hiccup a laugh and Bokuto eventually regains his composure, now trying to desperately get Akaashi to stop giggling and look at him. Directly at him. No avoiding or covering his face or pretending like he wasn’t staring. Look into golden eyes and stay there. He tries. But after a few seconds turns away, ruffles his hair, scratches his shoulder. 

Bokuto starts talking anyway, “Hey no, really, I know we were joking and all but I’ve actually been, well-” he coughs, Akaashi glances back at him, red beginning to show at the tips of his ears, “um, I’ve been thinking that maybe, we, uh-” 

“Whenever you two are done flirting, it’d be nice to go get some food before studying all night, as I’ve pointedly tried asking like 3 times already.” Kuroo interrupts Bokuto, calling over his shoulder, a sly grin plastered on his face, Kenma’s snickers soon follow his comment. 

Bokuto visibly deflates, red splotching his face again, and instead of laughing this time Akaashi grabs the bottom of his jacket and tugs offering him a fraction of a smile, “Tell me another time, okay?” 

To this he nods and shrugs, Akaashi’s hand snakes down, brushing Bokuto’s palm and for a millisecond he leaves it there before moving to adjust his jacket. 

Akaashi attempts to pay no mind to the fact that he fell off the tightrope a long time ago. 

* * *

It’s not like Bokuto never makes Akaashi laugh. 

In fact, he’s probably one of the only ones who can successfully do it, time and time again. The sound is contagious, infections- a sharp intake of air followed by small hiccups that occasionally crescendo into a wheezing laugh. He’d kill for the sound. 

Yeah, yeah it’s probably slightly dramatic but who could blame him? When Akaashi’s smile reaches his eyes, and they’re closed, squinty and crinkled, his brain short circuits. If Bokuto were any good at expressing those thoughts aloud, he’d probably tell him exactly that. 

The frustrating thing is, Bokuto  _ is _ good at expressing every single goddamn thought he has, whether it idly passes by or stays centered for an hour, he’ll speak it into existence. Words practically foam at his mouth, unable to rival his tenacious brain that whips a mile a minute, a mile a second, running steadily like a plane engine that only makes pit stops until the next non-stop flight. And the pit stops seem to come every time he’s around Akaashi, like he’s the one who controls his speed. And when Akaashi laughs, if it’s possible, Bokuto’s pace reduces to almost a stand still stop. 

He chases the sound like a dog chases a ball, and in turn Kuroo calls him pathetic and soft, but he simply knows that it’s a fact and no insult. Ornery and adamant are other words he’d use for himself but regardless, right now, this second, he’s determined to hear the laugh Akaashi let out a couple days ago. 

The walk to the library, where the laugh seemed to halt every thought whirring around his head and also speed them up, almost forced Bokuto to spill the beans right then and there. Throw it all on the pavement so Akaashi could impassively blink in response or maybe say he feels similarly. 

In order to hear that laugh, Bokuto might have to furiously blush again because that’s what seemed to trigger it. And the only person who can get Bokuto flustered is Akaashi, and it’s not like Bokuto necessarily enjoys wearing a bright red face; not to mention, it’s also a pretty rare occurrence. 

His phone buzzes, interrupting the overworked rusty engine thoughts, and to his pleasant surprise it’s Akaashi. 

**_A: you wanna order pizza tmrw? invite kuroo & kenma too - lets go skateboarding or something _ **

Akaashi rarely ever initiated plans. He never protests or complains when he is invited to hangout with Bokuto and his roommates, but he also never seems too excited. Maybe the semester is starting to get to him. 

**_B: Yeah sounds good! I’ll let them know :)_ **

After a minute, he figures he should ask him if something’s up. Something is definitely up. Akaashi’s not that best at skateboarding and Bokuto knows he prefers to keep Kenma and Kuroo at an arm’s length as well. After a minute goes by with no response from Akaashi, Bokuto sends the text. What harm could it do? 

**_B: you okay?_ **

He responds almost instantly, Bokuto's heart rate picking up pace- over something so miniscule. If Kuroo were here, he'd call him pitiful. 

**_A: got a lot on my mind. uni work is hard :/ i didn’t do so hot on the last physiology test i took. the whole diagram with the kidney and vasodilation really screwed me over._ **

They’re all biology majors, but Akaashi really goes above and beyond the rest of them. His specialization is in Microbiology, Bokuto can’t imagine having to take a test related to the function of the body. He barely passes his plant identification labs. He studies conservation biology with Kenma, and Kuroo’s a botany major. Not that any of them have it easy, really. Biology may be considered a soft science but everyone in the major regularly gets their ass kicked by some of the tests, no matter what the specialization. 

His phone beeps again.

**_A: thought it’d be good for me to take it easy cos i think the stress is making my performance on exams suffer._ **

See, what Bokuto would like to do is comfort him and tell him he thinks the sun shines out of his ass, hug him for four hours and then tell him that he’s the most intelligent human being he’s ever met. He’d love to make him his favorite kava tea with a splash of cream and have him come over so he could play with the wispy dark ends of his hair, play with his fingers, and kiss him on the nose- the usual sort of cheesy movie shit.  ****

Before he can think about what to respond with, that’s not desperate and too playfully flirtatious and weird, Akaashi sends another message. 

**_A: sorry i know i'm not usually this whiney._ **

**_B: don’t apologize. I really don’t mind, kaashi._ **

**_A: :)_ **

**_B: you wanna hear a joke?_ **

**_A: duh_ **

**_B: what do you call an acid with an attitude?_ **

**_A: um, hold on lemme think, i wanna try and figure it out_ **

**_B: you’re going to google it aren’t you?_ **

**_A: didn’t you get this from google?_ **

**_B: No!_ **

**_A: damn liar._ **

**_B: are you saying i’m not the best at telling jokes? And that i can’t come up with my own?_ **

**_A: i know for a fact you googled this one._ **

**_B: do you wanna know the answer or argue with me about the joke?_ **

**_A: hahah okay, okay, tell me, hummingbird._ **

The old nickname sends him spiraling in 200 directions. Everything is glaring and bright, the sun settling on his skin feels like sunburn, the pencils on his desk are sharp, pointy and distracting. His foot moves back and forth, back and forth, back and forth- 

-the posters on the walls curl in, flap with the fan blowing on them, someone in the kitchen slams a cabinet, pans hitting one another lightly on the inside; he wonders if the moon has ever touched the river, if the river will flow farther than time, if the moon will still be around when the Earth is not. 

The sun’s still bothering him. Unpleasantly warming his skin so it’s itchy, so he has to rub it and now his left foot is moving but he’s thinking about the way cats play with their food, the way orca whales do too, what it means to be prey and predator and if it’s possible that they’re subjective definitions of if certain predators really  _ play  _ and- 

If lemonade is the flavor of lemons or if lemons just make lemonade? None of this is profound thinking, nor helpful in any manner. It’s buzzing and whirring and like the fan he never seems to remember to turn off in his room, he can’t remember to shut this part of his brain off either. 

**_B: hummingbird? :)_ **

**_A: that’s you, bokuto_ **

**_B: no, i know it just makes me happy_ **

**_A: don’t change the subject, you’ve got me hooked on your googled joke._ **

**_B: ah, right._ **

**_A: but i’ll call you that more often if you want. i didn't want to make you uncomfortable._ **

**_B: doesn’t make me uncomfortable, kaashi_ **

**_A: joke punchline, bokuto… ;)_ **

**_B: right right, okay so an acid with an attitude is a-mean-o acid_ **

**_A: hahahahhahah you totally googled it_ **

Bokuto can practically hear the hiccuping laughter, and Bokuto knows it’s not because of the joke but because of Bokuto himself. He wishes he could hear it in person. 

So… he tells him that. 

**_B: i wish i could hear you laugh in person_ **

**_A: make me blush why dont ya_ **

**_B: you never blush, it’s unfair_ **

**_A: yeah, you’re the tomato_ **

If he were to place when the  _ harmless _ flirting began, Bokuto would probably say last summer. Their first year in college, they were the best of friends, Bokuto, with the embarrassingly mushy crush on his best friend for the entirety of their freshman year. Akaashi only began flirting back after they spent their second summer together… alone. Kenma and Kuroo and most of the other college students left for the summer to see their family and friends back home, they stayed put. A lot of movie nights and popsicles dripping down their chins onto their thighs led to Akaashi reciprocating the occasional smirk and heavy lidded eyes and more than one compliment consecutively. 

Now, the flirting is pretty much normal, it’s like an extension of their friendship. Nothing more, nothing less. Physical contact comes rare, and Bokuto’s throat closes up every time Akaashi accidentally grazes his skin. 

**_B: thought i was a hummingbird_ **

**_A: ehhh_ **

**_B: cmooooonnn_ **

**_A: yeah, yeah okay, ur a hummingbird_ **

The rampant thoughts come again, he wants to spit it up, spit it all up, be louder than he’s ever been and finally tell Akaashi the truth, encompass the rivers with cats and orcas hunting their prey with the sound of his own voice. Tell him everything he’s been meaning to say since they first met, every thought he’s never shared with him, every single quiet moment filled with sound, when he’s held his tongue. 

**_A: hey what were you gonna tell me the other day?_ **

He could lie; say it was about a test, an opportunity, something that happened in the lab that week. Akaashi’s too smart for that, he’d never call him out or say he was lying for that but Bokutou would never want him to take that personally. 

**_B: too important for a text_ **

He lets the text settle at the bottom of his feet. He’s not spineless, it’s no lie, it’s way too fragile for a simple text message but at the same time, it feels like he’s sneaking away from something, another missed opportunity hanging in the air, gliding in the space between them, howling with the wind and never drifting near Akaashi’s ears. 

**_A: okay, but the suspense is kiiiillllinnnng me, bo_ **

**_B: in time, kaashi, in time._ **

* * *

The first time Bokuto met Akaashi, he almost confessed to the sun, moon, and stars. Almost sprawled his adoration out on a blanket decorated with constellations made of hydrogen and colliding atoms giving birth to life, lungs, oxygen, air. The sunlight in his belly grasping for the moonlight in his lungs, his lungs gasping for a breath not varnished in petals. 

_ Breathe.  _

He relaxed. Breathe in, out, in out, in- 

_ “Do you think he knows you can map out his freckles, chart the ocean in his eyes, breathe in all those curls like rose vines?”  _

_ “Ew what the fuck is up with you, dude?” Kuroo says, not even making an effort to hide his horrified tone and expression. “That’s the weirdest shit you’ve ever said, I’m not even gonna try and lie to you.”  _

_ “But do you think he knows, Kuroo?”  _

_ “Fuck no,” he scoffs and grimaces, “no person thinks that about themselves, except maybe Oikawa or Hinata from time to time.”  _

_ “I should tell him-” _

_ Before he can continue the thought, Kuroo swoops in, “Absolutely not, ya wanna come off as a creep? Dude, don’t ever tell anybody that, even if you’re dating… just… don’t.” he shakes his head, continuously throwing looks of astonishment and disgust Bokuto’s way. “Also,” he clicks his tongue, tilting his head towards the dark haired, freckled boy, “you’re not gonna wanna hear this but, dude’s at best cute… if that.”  _

_ Now Bokuto rolls his eyes and snorts, “No, no, no, the way he…”  _

_ “He what? Walks? Bo, you don’t know him.” _

_ “Let’s change that.”  _

_ “Oh, god. Please god no." _

_ “We need another lab mate, we don’t have four people and both you and Kenma barely count as one.”  _

_ “Rude.”  _

_ “Prove me I’m wrong and we’ll talk.” _

_ Kuroo sighs noisily and dramatically, causing a few heads to turn including the freckled boy, Bokuto’s face instantly warms when his pointed nose glances their way. “Dude fine, but don’t fucking embarass me.”  _

_ Bokuto is up and out of his seat when he hears Kuroo say fine, doesn’t bother paying attention to the rest of the sentence. He stumbles over a lab stool and a few steps later plops in the seat next to the dark haired boy. _

_ “Hey, hey, come join our group,” he swings his legs back and forth on the chair, sitting on his hands, making sure to never let his eyes leave the pretty boy’s face. “You don’t have anyone else, prof isn’t here yet, it’s the first day, and I’m hilarious.” He’s aware he’s practically bouncing off his chair, his hands lifting his body up, fingers tapping on the chair, legs swinging wildly and the boy’s eyes widen at the movement.  _

_ “Wow.” he speaks, Bokuto almost faints, but continues to madly drum his fingers against the seat. “How insistent of you.”  _

_ “I’m Bokuto Koutarou. Yes, I’m insistent, persistent, whatever, whichever.” He blows a strand of loose hair out of his face, watching as the freckled boy scrutinizes him, his eyes moving from his fidgeting hands to the bounce in his leg, to his unruly silvery hair.  _

_ “Akaashi.” he murmurs, eyes now on Bokuto’s, a tiny smile forming on his lips.  _

_ “Kaashi.”  _

_ Akaashi giggles and at first Bokuto thinks he’s hiccuping, but the pink on his cheeks, moon crescent dimple, and lopsided mouth clue him in. “No, Akaashi, not Kaashi. Akaashi Keiji.” The smile fades as quickly as it appeared, his eyes remain half lidded, alluding disinterest and blasé.  _

_ “Heard ya the first time.” Bokuto states, “Come sit with us.”  _

_ “Don’t know how I feel about hummingbirds forcing me to join their group.”  _

_ “Huh?”  _

_ “You guys remind me of hummingbirds,” Akaashi says coolly, shrugging, eyes darting to Kuroo and then to the white board and eventually back at Bokuto, “constantly twitching, talking, chirping, you know.”  _

_ Bokuto’s searching Akaashi’s face for a sign of that being an insult, he thinks it is but his face is so collected and expressionless Bokuto has a hard time deciphering exactly what he meant. He feels himself shrink, his hands stop tapping, he begins to move to stillness, Akaashi still staring at him with cold midnight blue irises.  _

_ “Don’t act so shocked, hummingbird.” his face is still unreadable, practically begging Bokuto to jump to a fast conclusion so he can retort something on the contrary.  _

_ Unable to take those dark eyes boring into the center of his face any longer, Bokuto exhales and exaggerates an eye roll, “Yeah, yeah, well, we still need a fourth person, even if we’re comparable to hummingbirds,” he sniffs, turning away to meet Kuroo’s irritated expression.  _

_ Surprisingly, instead of retorting a sassy comment, Akaashi hiccups a small laugh again, “Yeah, looks like you do.” he purses his lips and then offers him the tiniest of smiles. Bokuto’s chest flutters. If Akaashi thinks he’s a hummingbird, if he finds him to be obnoxious or crass, or annoying, at least the pretty boy still laughs at his jokes and amplified personality.  _

_ He could choke on the sentiment.  _

_ “By the way, your hair is beautiful.” Akaashi says intrepidly, after class, Kuroo and Kenma arguing about a deadline on the syllabus in front of them, his line of sight straight ahead like an arrow, not bothering to glance over at Bokuto’s reaction.  _

_ “Oh, um,” he stutters, practically tripping over his feet and his tongue, “thanks. You’re um,” he coughs, Akaashi’s still fixated on Kuroo’s head, Bokuto’s taken off guard by the mellow, quiet and simultaneously outspoken boy next to him.  _

_ Fearless. He thinks that’s what that word means. Saying what’s on your mind but instead of incoherence or a bunch of mumbling and endless trains of thought leading to nowhere, it’s a sentence, never longer, a candid statement never needing elaboration. It grounds him. It focuses him- his mind still buzzes, still wandering down the hall and into the nearest room, dipped into a flask and pulled out of a centrifuge, but for some reason after the centrifusion, he can hold his runaway train of thoughts in his palm.  _

_ “You’re um, your hair, you,” having control of his thoughts, what he says, where his attention is- that’s something to get used to. He can’t seem to handle everything he wants to say, all the simple sentences that could leave his mouth to compliment Akaashi are sitting at the ends of his fingertips and he’s still sputtering around.  _

_ Akaashi gives him a funny look, breaking his attention away from the top of Kuroo’s head, “Yeah?”  _

_ “Your hair’s really dark.” Bokuto’s finishes stupidly, rewarded with a snort and small giggle.  _

_ “Thanks, grew it myself and all.”  _

_ “I meant, well you’re…”  _

_ Say it, say it, say it.  _

_ “Hey, Akaashi, wanna come with us for a bite to eat?”  _

_ Akaashi’s still staring at him, still waiting for Bokuto to finish the sentence, but he can’t, he won’t. He doesn’t want to be uncomfortably forward or make him uncomfortable so he bites his tongue.  _

_ “Yeah, we wanted to try that pizza place down the road,” Bokuto offers, ignoring his previous outburst.  _

_ Before responding, Akaashi stares for a few more seconds, waiting, waiting, waiting, before shrugging and agreeing to the outing.  _


	2. Part Two

Last summer;  popsicle sticks on thighs, stuck to the carpet, fan on high, broken AC. Heat waves shimmering from the pavement. 

_ By the fifth day, Akaashi figures he should start bringing his own pillow and stuff over to Bokuto’s place. Since summer began his only friend in town was Bokuto. And Bokuto seemed overly exuberant to have him over every day.  _

_ When he arrives with a pillow in his hand, Bokuto glances down at it and grins, “Good look.”  _

_ Akaashi shrugs sheepishly, “I’m literally never home,” he steps into Bokuto’s place, “might as well just commit.”  _

_ “Dump it on my bedroom floor.”  _

_ Akaashi obeys and then meets Bokuto back in the living room, plopping down on the ugly seafoam couch, “Did Kuroo pick this out?” Akaashi comments, the sun coming in from the window already getting lost in his curls, heat sleepiness nuzzling the back of his neck.  _

_ Bokuto scrunches up his nose, “No, I did, jackass.”  _

_ Akaashi bursts out laughing, “Dude this shit is so ugly.”  _

_ “It is not,” Bokuto says indignantly, still staring at him in disbelief, “I can’t believe you invite yourself to spend the night and then insult my furniture.”  _

_ “Sorry, you’ll have to deal with my loose tongue. No filter.” He points to his mouth, shrugging apologetically.  _

_ “Nah, not deal with, I like that about you.” Bokuto misses meeting his eyes and turns towards the counter in the kitchen, grabbing the wall and spinning into his freezer and grabbing a popsicle.  _

_ Akaashi doesn’t press the comment, frankly, it makes him nervous. Sometimes when Bokuto is as brazen as himself, he collapses in like an imploding star. Akaashi doesn’t think Bokuto knows he’s being so blunt, he always says he’s unable to say what he means, but sentences like that explicitly say otherwise.  _

_ The yellow popsicle immediately starts to melt the minute it’s out of the wrapper. It sticks to Bokuto’s lips, runs down to meet the wooden stick and his fingers. Akaashi thinks about what Kuroo said to him before he left.  _

_ “Ha, dude, he practically melts for you.” He said in a hushed tone with an almost confused expression. At the time, Akaashi thought he was being an asshole, making fun of Bokuto’s runny egg thoughts and inability to solidly sit in one place. Now, with the pineapple popsicle sticking half out of his mouth, dripping onto the carpet while Bokuto stares at his phone, Akaashi realizes Kuroo meant something else. It was a jab at Akaashi, not his own friend. Underneath the sentence, a statement lingered in the stuffy air in Bokuto’s apartment: Akaashi isn't good enough for him.  _

_ Kuroo’s comment also implied that Bokuto is taken with him. Whether he craves his affection or friendship, Akaashi’s been slowly trying to figure it out without much luck. Bokuto’s touchy-er with Kuroo, but kinder to Akaashi, lets his emotions leak from every pore of his body around Kuroo, but holds his tongue around Akaashi. Not that comparing Kuroo to himself would do him much luck since they’ve been friends for longer and Bokuto’s just overly friendly with everyone anyway.  _

_ Overall, it’s been very confusing and troubling, and still, somehow, Akaashi stumbles in the dark and arrives at Bokuto’s doorstep.  _

_ That’s gotta count for something.  _

_ He wishes it were impossible but as the months carry on in the summer, as the day travels towards the night, it becomes increasingly more unbearable to sit in the muggy apartment bedrooms. Bokuto’s sucking on his fifth popsicle, directly in front of one of the fans scattered throughout each of the rooms.  _

_ “I’m going to start melting ice cubes on my stomach, on my neck, in my hands, and maybe then I’ll cool down. Just maybe.” Bokuto whines, his voice hoarse and exhausted from the July heat. “I feel like it’s gotten hotter since the sun went down.” _

_ “All the heat from the day is trapped in here.” Akaashi sighs, achieving a game over for the fifth time in SuperMario U Deluxe. He’s been stuck on the same level for hours. He didn’t remember sucking this much ass at this game on the WiiU. He places his Switch on the floor, “Wanna go out for a walk? Maybe it’ll be cooler.”  _

_ A noise of disgust leaves Bokuto’s throat, “Or more humid.”  _

_ “Fine, wanna sit outside your front door.”  _

_ A long pause and a groan escape from Bokuto’s mouth but eventually he resigns, “ugh, sure.” he peels himself off the floor, begrudgingly parting with the fan and dumping what’s left of his popsicle in the sink.  _

_ Outside, it’s slightly cooler. They argue whether or not it is or isn’t, the point is moot and almost not worth the dispute because the heat waves are still visible on the concrete, still raising the hairs on their legs and arms. The sky is clear of clouds- this is normal, rain is rare and begging for the rain feels desperate and hopeless.  _

_ The plants should know this best.  _

_ The heat makes it impossible to think about anything else. It rises off every surface possible, the mirage of rays and waves still vaguely visible in the dark. Heat, as this glaring, stifling entity makes it absurd to think about anything other than sweating, other than ice cubes and release from the sultry afternoons.  _

_ But sometimes, oh, sometimes instead of thinking about escaping the desert sun engulfing its surroundings, Akaashi’s thoughts wander to Bokuto. Bo crosses his mind every few minutes, perspiration dripping down his neck, popsicle stains on his tongue, the sugary water dripping on his fingers, everything coming undone.  _

_ Generally, he at least makes the effort to avoid such obscene thinking. Obscene, as in horribly, innocently, mild mannered for their age. Akaashi’s never been one for crushes… not that he has a crush on Bo… but he’s never been one to think about other people this much.  _

_ (As much as to compare them to the way the July heat suffocates).  _

_ The way the heat plasters itself to everything reminds Akaashi of the way Bokuto cements himself to Akaashi. The way his silvery hair reflects the summer sun, the way his golden eyes have grown more honeyed as the time has passed- days filled to the brim with July nights and witty remarks. The way he practically flutters everytime Akaashi calls him hummingbird. Bo’s as sour as a lemon, as sweet as lemonade, enough to give him a headache, enough to be stuck on his mind like cotton candy wrapped around a stick.  _

_ He thinks about kissing Bokuto on particularly hot nights- not that he’s never kissed someone before, but for the most part, it’s been pretty dull and nothing he’s been into.  _

_ Kissing. He thinks about kissing, and kissing, letting the heat smother his insides, letting kisses melt in his mouth, disappear into his lips, everything gooey and unable to remain solid in 90 degree weather.  _

_ Hell, during these summer days and nights, he wishes he could tell Kuroo that he melts for Bokuto too. Sometimes he can’t breathe without him, like the feverish summer will drown him without Bokuto. If Bo wasn’t around, he’d choke. Choke on the sun, nothing else to think about except June, July and August.  _

_ “Sometimes I think I can still see the heat waves rising from the pavement.” Akaashi mutters, (releasing nothing), Bo’s the only one around but he means to share it with the July night. Fireflies glow in a nearby bush, the moon prying and glaring down at them, judging Akaashi for dreaming of popsicle kisses in this sweltering month instead of dreaming of water. A kiss might release more from him than water.  _

_ “Honestly, same.” Bokuto purses his lips, ruffling some silver hair, it catches the light from the moon and fireflies- he matches moonlight. Akaashi wants to scream.  _

_ “Sometimes I feel like this summer isn’t going to end.”  _

_ Bokuto turns to him, inquiring further elaboration.  _

_ “It’s just so hot and the days blend together.”  _

_ “Ah, yeah.”  _

_ “What?” Akaashi says, waiting for Bokuto to elaborate because he looks like he’s holding back and he can’t stand it anymore. He doesn’t want him holding back, it eats him alive like the nasty sweat on his back and in between his shorts and skin.  _

_ “What?” Bokuto repeats back at him.  _

_ “What are you thinking about? Tell me.”  _

_ There’s a long pause and Bokuto swallows multiple times, picking at the edges of his fingernails, bouncing his leg up and down. He bites his lip and meets Akaashi’s gaze. The golden eyes are more apprehensive than ever, as if they’re soaked in the afternoon light, the only part of the sunshine left in the world- other than the moon, but Bokuto won’t ever have to compete with a rock that only has light because of the sun.  _

_ He’s choking on it all. He’s choking on the fireflies, the moonlight, the gold in Bokuto’s eyes and if he doesn’t speak now, he’ll act out, desperately grabby and holding onto false pretenses and comments leading to sweet nothings.  _

_ “I’m thinking about you.” Bokuto says, golden eyes dripping all the honey for the bees in the springtime, nectar running down a jar of jam.  _

_ Akaashi blushes furiously- he can feel his face turn bright red and the heat probably masks this but he’s burning and the moonlight is mocking him. “I’m thinking about you too.”  _

_ “You’re like the heat that doesn’t leave.”  _

_ “Yeah.”  _

_ “You’re everywhere.”  _

_ “Plastered on sofas.” _

_ “Calling me hummingbird.”  _

_ “You actually like that?” Akaashi snickers, covering his mouth and Bokuto nods. _

_ “Yeah, I think so.”  _

_ “I was kinda making fun of you when I originally said it.”  _

_ “I know.”  _

_ ‘He’ll melt for you’ runs in his mind like a soundtrack, “Maybe it’s the heat, making me think about you, making me think summer won’t end.” Akaashi watches a car pass by their street, music losing itself to the night and to the ears inside the car.  _

_ “You say you feel like summer isn’t going to end,” Bokuto speaks, staring up at the sky, drumming his hands against the step to his front door, “I don’t want it to.”  _

_ “Maybe it’s the heat.” Akaashi repeats, avoiding the sentiment, avoiding the words Bokuto spoke in the dark.  _

_ “No, it’s not, it’s… it’s…” Bokuto’s attempting to pull at the stars, but he’ll never reach because Akaashi won’t let him, at least not now.  _

_ He almost says it, but Akaashi cuts him off, “Wanna get another popsicle?”  _

_ Bokuto looks defeated and it’s almost enough to cut out his own tongue for talking over him, almost the reason he decides to go back to his own apartment.  _

_ Eventually, Bokuto nods and the moon chastises Akaashi, the humid air still plastered on the furniture and in every pore of his skin.  _

* * *

After a tedious and lengthy night of studying, Bokuto’s ready to call it quits. His back cracks against the office chair in his room and it directs him to consciously acknowledge how horrible his posture had been throughout the night. He’s not sure how Akaashi manages to work laying on his stomach for such an extended period of time. Bokuto’s bed isn’t large or spacious enough to equip a comfortable studying position either, especially not while studying. 

“Can we be done?” He groans, arching his back once again, hoping a bone near his back will give in and burst. 

Akaashi sniffs, “Yes and no.” he lifts his gaze from his book for a millisecond, Bokuto takes this opportunity to push out his bottom lip and pout. 

“We’ve been at this for hours,” Bokuto gripes, picking up a pencil from his desk to fidget and push the lead in and out. “Don’t yes and no me.” 

Akaashi lets out a whine, “If I fail this test I’m blaming you.” 

“Fine.” Bokuto jumps out of the chair and shoves Akaashi, who lets out a protest as his books and notebook get crumpled under Bokuto’s gawky limbs. “Move this shit.” He states, kicking the uni-work mildly, paper crumpling under his calf. 

“Bo,” Akaashi groans, “Bo, you’re crushing my notes,” he sounds vaguely agitated but removes the pile of schoolwork out of the way and onto the floor with the same amount of carelessness seen in Bokuto’s actions. 

Sighing, Akaashi throws himself down next to Bokuto onto one of the big fluffy pillows, staring up at his ceiling. 

“Cmon, let's watch a movie or something.” Bokuto prods his ankle with his foot, “stop thinking about this shit, we’re probably too fried to retain anything anyway.” 

“Says you,” Akaashi mutters, exhaling slowly. He’s still gazing up at the ceiling, his expression blank and focused, reminding Bokuto of the face he makes while reading and studying; even with the hazy nothings, the heavy lidded eyes, expressionless face, Bokuto still finds himself in awe. Perturbed and stunned because Akaashi exists in such a barren space that he’s never seen another human occupy. 

Akaashi’s lopsided grin is about as much expression as he’ll probably ever convey and Bokuto sees stars in his desolate sky; an infinity behind midnight blues, all entirely hidden underneath Jupiter’s clouded exterior. It’s shocking and unsettling- and instead of running away, Bokuto wants to kiss it away. Bokuto doesn’t think the clouds will ever disperse, they’ll never scatter like stardust and Akaashi will stay as stoic as Bokuto knows him as and it’s all the more reason for him to crave a simple touch, a simple kiss to his nose, to his collarbones. 

Bokuto thinks dead stars have been distributed across Akaashi’s face, along the bridge of his nose and under his eyelids. He wants to kiss those too. Delicately, pecking each and every freckle with his mouth, hoping Akaashi’s infinity remains suspended in mid air, encompassing the void he exists in. 

He’s feeling bold and Akaashi looks like midnight, so he reaches over to brush dark strands out of Akaashi’s eyes. He’s meeted with a wide eyed glance but Akaashi doesn’t tell him to stop. He sweeps more hair off his forehead and then pushes it back. His hair feels soft, clean, waves and curls forming over his hand, in between each of his fingers. 

He removes it abruptly. Nope. No. No. 

“That felt good.” Akaashi hums, “You can keep playing with my hair.” 

Without saying anything, Bokuto reaches over again, but this time he places his index finger on Akaashi’s face, gently tracing the constellation of freckles, connecting each dot from the tip of his nose to his cheekbones; it’s not his mouth but it’s  _ something.  _ It’s tinkering with a part of his head, the foggy part transforming into a clear sky, relieving some unkempt desire, dipping into some dreamland state he didn’t know existed, a part of him alive in pinks and golds. Akaashi hums happily, he closes his eyes, a curve to his lips- a curve in Saturn’s rings. 

Bokuto moves his hand back to his hair and plays with some of the curls, letting them regain shape after softly giving them a tug. He puts some hair behind his ears, Akaashi keeps his eyes shut, humming like a cat would purr every once and awhile, filling Bokuto with an unknown emotion, something only the balmy sunlight grants him to feel when he steps outside and it warms his face. 

Eventually, he pulls his hand away, becoming more self conscious of the action by the second. Something in his chest sounds like a broken metronome that keeps clicking the tempo a beat faster. His chest vibrates; he can’t continue to act upon the ticking- touching Akaashi escalates this feeling. 

“Why’d you stop?” Akaashi muses, his eyes remain closed, face void of any sentiment. 

“I dunno, I…” Bokuto’s not sure what to say. 

_ I’m afraid I’m going to spontaneously decide to kiss you and it’ll end in a supernova, a black hole, you’ll swallow me whole.  _

“I don’t think I should be…” 

“Playing with my hair,” Akaashi finishes, a sly smirk appearing on his face. 

“Yeah.” 

“Eh, you can play with my hair.” 

“Ya sure?” 

“Course.” 

“I still don’t think I should.” 

“Well, unless you can give me a good reason why you shouldn’t then… not sure what the dilemma is.” 

The dilemma is that he’s in love with him. At this point, he can’t lie to himself about it. That’s the fucking dilemma. 

“Guess I really can’t give you one.” 

Akaashi props himself up on his elbows to stare at Bokuto, intensely and impassively, waiting, searching for more, but Bokuto can’t give him anything else, not tonight. 

“Let’s just watch a movie, okay?” 

Akaashi purses his lips like he wants to comment, opens his mouth but shuts it immediately and nods in agreement. 

The rest of the night, Bokuto’s quiet, consumed by his nonstop flight thoughts and Akaashi- all the stars connected by invisible particles in space. 

* * *

Every other Thursday at two pm, Akaashi runs to the Science Lab Building to catch Bokuto leaving his last class of the day. His final class of the day ends at noon, so he sits and waits in the library, usually occupying his time with last minute studying or homework. Around two, he’s up and headed towards the Science Lab building. He’s generally cautious about making the trip because if he runs into Kuroo or Kenma, their plans are spoiled. Bokuto’s in Invertebrate Biology on the third floor, Kenma and Kuroo are both across the same hall in an Environmental Politics class. Akaashi sneaks past the window so they don’t spot him and tip toes over to the outside of Bo’s class. He waits patiently, rocking back on his heels, still ready to duck or move towards the staircase if Kuroo or Kenma get out of their class earlier than Bo. 

Once the silvery head of hair nears the door, Akaashi prepares to grab him by the wrist and pull him left towards the emergency exit rather than right where Kuroo and Kenma usually wait for him. It’s amazing how forgetful Bokuto can be because almost every single time without fail, he yelps when Akaashi yanks him left. 

“What the-” realization dawns on him when he whips around to face the person who dared touch him, “Oh, it’s you… OH! It’s Thursday!” a wide, toothy, grin spreads across his face, indiscreetly happy- it sends Akaashi into a dizzy trance, almost losing his footing while he’s situated in one place. 

“Ready?” Akaashi whispers, unable to contain his own excitement. “Hurry, Kuroo’s starting to catch on to our Thursday outings, I can see his head looking for you outside your class,” he nods towards Kuroo’s tall mop of black hair, “lets go.” he tugs on Bokuto’s arm and they’re gone; headed for the staircase that leads to the emergency exit, they slam into the door which, in turn, creates an intense smacking sound that people definitely heard. 

At least now they’re hidden by the glaring sun, if Kuroo or Kenma actually caught up to them, Akaashi would genuinely be surprised. 

The day’s hot, it’s always hot and sticky. Even the winter months don’t shed the layer of stuffy humidity, the trees sprout the occasional green, and the most foul weather in the winter indicates mild thunderstorms. At least the leaves still change color in the autumn. 

They’re sprinting through the quad, Akaashi’s grip loosens on Bokuto’s hand but he keeps it in place. Akaashi won’t tell him but his hand comforts him more than the luminous, summery weather characteristic of his hometown.

And in turn, Bokuto seems unwilling to let his hand go, so Akaashi takes that as a small victory. 

Oftentimes, regardless of whether or not Bokuto holds his hand tight or not, Akaashi suspects Bokuto has a massive crush on Kuroo. Kuroo has access to spaces Akaashi only ever seems to observe from afar. Corners and hallways where Akaashi feels like an intruder, as if he stumbled into the wrong corridor but there’s no way out except straight through, invading a place off limits to him.

Not to mention… Kuroo’s funny- attractive and tall, clever and quick with his tongue, everything Akaashi isn’t; where Akaashi is quiet, Kuroo howls to the moon, gulping in the light of the sun before it reflects off water, folding the sunlight into a pristine bow for Bokuto, gifting him the light, competition wiped out in seconds. 

Not to anyone’s surprise, Bokuto hugs sunlight effortlessly. 

The best gift Akaashi might be capable of giving Bokuto is a modest night under the stars, yet he’d be unable to reach for the midnight sky and pluck them down for him- it pales in comparison to Kuroo. 

Where Kuroo is funny, Akaashi mirrors murky swamp water, muddled and hidden under layers of seaweed and moss; no possible way Bokuto could navigate through the layers of unpleasant fungal plant life to reach the sarcasm under the surface. 

_ Forget _ addressing how envious Akaashi is of Kuroo’s looks- effortlessly messy and put together with nasty smile that could melt everyone’s heart for an odd reason or another. Maybe it’s because he pulls off the mischievous smirk, draws attention to the onlooker because he seems like he could be the dangerously ubiquitous type of fun. 

But Bokuto’s holding onto his hand, and maybe that’s the best he can do, maybe it’s all he’ll ever do, and it’s nowhere near as fun as playing pranks and getting a crowd to laugh but Bokuto’s following him right now, not Kuroo, and it’s enough to get him through the day.   
  


Thursdays. 

Thursdays are cracking aloe leaves in half, the goop spilling from the plant and into your palm; delightfully warm from the sun and soothing on the skin even without the peeling indicative of a sunburn. Salt from the ocean spraying curls, grazing lips so that salt becomes the aftertaste of every sentence said out loud. Skateboards on the pier, skating into oncoming people traffic, stomach’s faux full with sickly nectar belly acidity from cotton candy, people noises spraying right and left against the thunderous ocean waves as they share popcorn, share jokes, share the sunset, caramel jammed in between teeth. 

Gooey, goopy, daydream sunsets that everyone longs for, reaches for, skateboards sizzle and clack on the wood, they move to the sidewalk near the beach and gesture to volleyball players. 

There’s a bridge they can skate up, it leads them to a giant forest preserve where they only venture in on days equivalent to bad dreams- an escape they make floral sacrifices to. Today isn’t one of those days. 

Thursdays. 

Thursdays are a home with knick knacks and inside jokes and people sharing bubblegum ice cream, other skateboarders high fiving them after bloody knees and bashful laughs, Akaashi keeping band aids in his pocket, Bokuto sucking his knees dry, standing up, dusting off, and rushing to a claw machine on the pier. 

On Thursdays Bokuto’s not distracted and Akaashi might say that the sun starts to set in his chest before it sets on the skyline, the cotton candy doesn’t digest itself and gets stuck on his own fingertips. 

Every other Thursday, Akaashi thinks he steps into a dream, far from school work, far from the engine smell of his 20 year old car, far from jealousy and stress or even the sounds of cynical college students. Sometimes Thursdays feel like an entire existence, a definition of spending one day on Earth- if anyone asked him to describe what it’s like being human he’d say Thursdays. 

And if Bokuto heard him utter such words, he’d snort, let out a raspy chortle and those golden eyes would mock the orange sky in a superior color; all Akaashi compares to is the sticky, leftover ice cream dried on his lips. 

_ This is what it means to be human. To feel all of this.  _

Feel what’s generally foreign to him, devour the sweetness of dusk and pluck his own nerves like harp strings. 

During the sunset, they settle at the edge of the pier, their feet dangling off, toes barely sitting upon the surface of the ocean. Bokuto’s eyes are fixated on the sparkles coming off the water, each wave rolling in a new set of kaleidoscope colors and radiance. 

Courage soaks Akaashi’s bare feet with the salty ocean water, bravery washing up on the shore; it’s surprising when Akaashi can persuade himself to be as forward as he is, his own introverted nature enveloped by the pull of the sea. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Bokuto sips on lemonade, liquid sloshing around in an ugly patterned styrofoam cup, he swallows, “Yeah, you don’t gotta ask, Kaashi,” he takes another slurp of the sugary juice, “shoot.” 

“Do… I’ve always wanted to know… and maybe it’s not my place,” his previous courage falters and putters, but the waves pursue the shore more ruthlessly than before, the moon permitting them to push farther and farther. 

“Even if it’s not your place, I won’t be upset,” he sounds so calm, so taken with the ocean, his mind probably isn’t all in one place, serenely daydreaming in between each sentence and cognitive thought he has. 

For some reason, this also calms Akaashi, “Do you…” he pauses again, this time Bokuto turns his face to watch Akaashi speak, letting him know that he won’t daydream or wander away from here, “Do you like Kuroo?” 

Instantly, Bokuto lets out a hideous, boisterous laugh that sounds more like a mix between a snort and shout, he looks amused but only vaguely, just to materialize a more appalled expression. 

“You’re joking, right?” Bokuto composes his expression, removing the initial shock, Akaashi thinks he’s trying to be polite . “Like… Kuroo and I go way back but… dude…  _ Kaashi _ ,” he drawls, letting out another displeased snort, “No. Just no.” Bo’s eyes move back to the water, a half smile still left on his face. “Also, I assumed you meant as in... want to date Kuroo and that’s absurd. Not to mention, if all this time you’ve thought I’ve had a crush on Kuroo then you’re a lot dumber than I thought you were.” He clicks his tongue and laughs to himself more. 

“Sorry.” Akaashi mumbles because he’s not quite sure what else to say. Well, he wants to say a lot of things and it’s not that he doesn’t want to or that he can’t but it’s Thursday and if he lets it spill… if he lets it spill today, Thursdays could be ruined forever. 

“Don’t say sorry, Kaashi.” Bokuto chuckles, “I mean I would have thought that the way Kuroo acts around me would cue people in to think we would never want to date,” He splashes some water at Akaashi with his foot and smiles, “he’s a prick. Also… I’m pretty sure Kuroo has a thing for Kenma but they’ve known each other for so long that he keeps that to himself.” A smirk replaces the previously sweet smile, “Don’t tell him I told you, he might kill both of us.” 

This is definitely news to Akaashi. He feels slightly daft for believing Bokuto liked Kuroo enough to date him. Something else tugs at his consciousness, more questions, answers he may or may not deserve to hear. 

“Then,” he pauses, losing footing again, “does he dislike me?” 

“Pft, Kuroo’s just crass.” 

“No, I know, but I feel like he doesn’t like me around you.” 

“That has more to do with me than you.” Bo shrugs, giving him a look of indifference. This makes Akaashi feel better, Bo’s completely unbothered and it proves Akaashi’s been fixated on a microscopic unimportant detail.

“Ya sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves a hand, “why all the questions about Kuroo?” 

Akaashi doesn’t respond. His mind is blank, essentially incapable of feeling the cool water on his feet. After taking a sip of lemonade, Bo’s eyes widen and he whips to face Akaashi, the realization smacking him square in the face, “Wait, you’re jealous.” 

Akaashi coughs and clenches his jaw.  _ That must be the feeling.  _ He’s been projecting his own jealousy onto Kuroo, letting it create marmalade uncertainty, taint reality with a sticky food coloring pigment.  _ Fuck _ . 

Bokuto’s mouth drops open and Akaashi knows his mind must be traveling faster than the speed of light. Before Bokuto can draw any conclusions, Akaashi speaks, feeling the weight of gravity on his shoulders, the moon rising while the sun sets farther into the horizon. 

“Sometimes all I think about is you, hummingbird.” 

“What?” Bokuto rasps out a response, his cup threatens to fall out of hands and into the ocean, he tightens his grip, looking for answers but the sun's disappearing with them and Akaashi holds all of it in his palms with the weight of the moon, the density of the ocean. 

“All I think about is you, Bo.” Akaashi swallows, for some reason, tears threaten to spill from his eyes, overwhelming him,  _ (it must be the ocean rising, the moon threatening to appear any second) _ , consuming him like the constant heat that gently encompasses their college town. “Since I met you, you’re all I think about. And I’ve never fucking told you and I don’t know why but we’ve been dancing around it since last summer.” 

Bokuto’s eyes soften, something in both of them melts like the ocean melts into the sand, like ice cream dripping off ice cream cones, like lava settling into a volcano. 

“It’s… I want it to be Thursday, every day, and I’m always chasing your hands, trailing behind your footsteps, waiting for you to finish each sentence with an inaudible period, and I’m quiet but I can’t hold it in anymore.” 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto starts slowly, but he doesn’t wanna hear it, he’s not done, he’s not finished, almost three years have passed and the heat waves aren’t an illusion and they’re not choking on him- he’s choking on his own words, sweating under his own pressure, under his own 100 degree weather. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

At this, Bokuto inhales sharply and gently sets down his styrofoam cup on the pier. “You know,” he chuckles, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something similar.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Duh.” 

The waves slam against the shore, the moon revealing its glowing birth while the orange haziness disappears and dark blue’s swirl into the sky instead. The waves have been perpetually growing in volume, in force, and eventually Akaashi settles into Bokuto’s neck and all the noises and milky moonlight remind him of home. A home he created for himself. 

And hell, maybe he’s moonlight, nonexistent without the glare of the sun, but if he’s in control of the sea maybe there’s more than the sun to look up to in this world. 

After a silent while, illuminated by murky moonlight Akaashi speaks again, “Hummingbird…?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m happy I told you.” 

“Me too, Kaashi. Me too.” 

The infinite night swallows them whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so after five days this is finally finished.
> 
> dreamland by glass animals was released and i fell into a daydream so please check it out - parts of this are heavily inspired by specific lyrics. 
> 
> little nervous bc this is my first attempt at bokuaka even though ive been telling myself for years that i was going to write for them.


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